


Broken

by extraneous_accessories



Category: The Iron Druid Chronicles - Kevin Hearne
Genre: F/M, atticus couldn't have been the only one, i just couldn't get this out of my mind, srsly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extraneous_accessories/pseuds/extraneous_accessories
Summary: I frowned at him and sighed, weighing the knife in my hand. "You know," I mused, "I really was planning to let you walk out of here all in one piece, but you're starting to sound eerily like you're uttering death threats."I stepped slowly out onto the steps of the bar, feeling the pat pat of the rain on my black t-shirt. The vampire made no move towards me. "What," he sneered, "are you going to call the RCMP on me?""Nope," I said, walking up to him until we were less than a foot apart. "I'm planning on beating the shit out of you. Haven't decided if I'm going to stake you yet or not.""You?" he scoffed in disbelief, "It is clear to me that you are not powerful, or you would have unbound me by now, as your kind have always done to mine.""Oh, don't worry," I grinned, "Skinny bastard like you? I wasn't planning on using magic anyway. The tattoo at the top of my left biceps pulsed.





	1. Chapter 1

I lifted my whiskey glass and took a long pull, feeling the smooth liquid burn my throat all the way down. I sighed appreciatively. There was nothing quite like a cold sip of Tullamore Dew to smooth out the tension of a long hard day and let the bitterness in to stay. I brushed my dark hair out of my eyes and looked around the pub. At this late hour, the dance floor was fairly empty, but most of the tables still served their patrons faithfully, holding up drunken elbows and heads. My shift was over, and I stretched comfortably into the high chair, resting my left knee on the bar. There was very little to bounce at this time of the night, so all there was to do was relax.

“Need a refill on that, Aylish?” Douglas 'Mac' McGivern, the bright eyed, red haired manager of the Roan Goat, held up the whiskey bottle, his ginger brows raised in inquiry. I waggled my empty glass in the air, and he slid the bottle down the bar towards me. I flashed him a quick smile by way of thanks. Mac was a good manager and a passionate connoisseur of whiskey, cigars, and women that were bad for his wallet and his heart. In spite of myself, I'd found him to be a solid and dependable friend, and we'd seen each other through some rough patches since I'd moved into Edmonton seven years ago.

As I poured the golden liquid into my glass, I heard voices raised in the beginnings of a quarrel near the back of the bar. Mac walked down the bar towards me, his brows furrowed. "Look," he said, "I know you're off, but Jeff is late, and those two look like they're about to make a mess back there." I followed the Guinness glass that he was pointing over my shoulder and saw two men shouting at each other with a good deal more energy than I would have believed possible for three in the morning. One was tall and built like one giant brick, with the complexion to match. The other was shorter and slimmer, but wiry. As we watched, the skinny one pulled a knife. "Ah, shit," Mac muttered, putting the glass back on the bar. "You want me to go over there with you?"

"Don't worry about it," I said, tossing back my whiskey. "Nothing like a decent fight to put the finishing touches on the evening."

"Just don't…you know…end up in the hospital or something…"

"Fat chance."

I sauntered easily over to the table at the back, my hands resting in my pockets. The brick-faced one looked up as he saw me approach. For a moment, his face registered hope, but then it crumpled when he noticed how tall and burly I wasn't. I nodded to him as I came to a halt just in front of the two of them. "Everything all right here, gentlemen?" I inquired, rocking back on my heels a bit.

"Everything's fine here," the thin man grated in a voice like sandpaper, looking straight into my eyes. I felt a small flare of heat on my left bicep as he stared at me. I raised an eyebrow, looking down at the knife he had attempted to conceal behind his right wrist. I dipped my head towards it. "That doesn't look like it's what I'd call alright."  
Now that I had a good look at the two of them, I noticed that the thin man was unnaturally pale, from the roots of his dark hair to the tips of his fingers. He seemed a bit unsettled by the fact that I hadn't gone about my business. The 'vampire' radar started flashing.

"I told you everything's just fine," he growled. His pupils dilated, making his eyes look like a cat's. My vampire radar started flashing a little quicker. I had hoped to ask them to step outside, but it looked like things were going to get a little out of hand. As I finished my thought, the thin man raised the knife and stepped close to me, obviously intending to slide the blade up under my rib cage and into my heart. I stepped outside his arm and grabbed his wrist, twisting hard until he dropped the blade. He snarled and I saw his eyeteeth lengthen. Yep. That topped out the vampire radar right there. That must have been the heat I'd felt through my tattoo as it blocked his magic. Bastard had tried to charm me into just walking away. Ha. I gave his arm another twist, bringing his hand up to touch the back of his head. His shoulder gave a sharp crack.

"Excuse me a moment," I said to the big brick over my shoulder as I walked the vampire to the door. I kicked it open and pushed him out into the November rain. He stood there a moment, staring balefully at me. I crossed my arms over my chest, letting the knife dangle loosely from my hand. "Have a good night."

He stared at me for another moment, then he spat on the sidewalk. "I will return for you," he growled, "you should not have disrupted my hunt, Druid." The smile I had been wearing slipped from my face. "What did you call me?" I asked softly.

He jutted his chin towards the tattoos that looped down my right arm, a disdainful sneer on his face. "I've seen those before," he spat "and I know what you are. You're just like that cursed O'Sullivan. A meddling fool, and more trouble than you are worth."

I frowned at him and sighed, weighing the knife in my hand. "You know," I mused, "I really was planning to let you walk out of here all in one piece, but you're starting to sound eerily like you're uttering death threats." 

I stepped slowly out onto the steps of the bar, feeling the pat pat of the rain on my black t-shirt. The vampire made no move towards me. "What," he sneered, "are you going to call the RCMP on me?"

"Nope," I said, walking up to him until we were less than a foot apart. "I'm planning on beating the shit out of you. Haven't decided if I'm going to stake you yet or not."

"You?" he scoffed in disbelief, "It is clear to me that you are not powerful, or you would have unbound me by now, as your kind have always done to mine."

"Oh, don't worry," I grinned, "Skinny bastard like you? I wasn't planning on using magic anyway. The tattoo at the top of my left biceps pulsed.

He shoved me back, and I gave the ground up easily, letting him come forward and think he had the advantage. He was fast, and I felt my nose crack as his first punch crunched into my face. The pain blossomed in my head, and I grinned, cresting the wave of adrenaline that surged into my veins in response. I ducked his next swing. He might have been fast and strong, but he certainly wasn't a skilled opponent. Oh well. At least I got a fight out of the whole thing. It had been looking like a disappointing end to the night, but this was much better. I landed a solid hit on his left side and heard something crack, probably ribs. I knew they would only grow back, but that was part of the fun, trying to get as many hits in as I could before his magic kicked in. The world contracted into a haze of pain and blood as he landed several punches on my body. I took them, letting the pain fuel my own arm as I gave as good as I got. I swung around a wild hit and stepped inside his reach, letting my fist crack hard against his face again and again in rapid succession. Once, twice, three times. The vampire staggered back, shaking his head as he tried to clear his head and take time to heal his wounds. I followed him and kicked my leg out in a sweep, bringing him to the concrete in an ungainly heap. His head cracked loudly against the cement, and I picked him up by the collar, dragging him back towards the alleyway. I had questions for this fucker, and I still had enough of my wits to know that interrogating him in public wouldn't be the best plan. The rage was coiled tight inside of me, but I held it in check. Questions first, I told myself, fun later.

I threw him roughly into the side of the pub and he crumpled to the ground, still looking dazed. His cheek had started to knit itself back together, so I kicked him several times in the face for good measure, my combat boot cracking it into pulp. That was the nice thing about vampires, I reflected as I pulled his belt from his pants and used it to bind his hands behind his back. I knew he'd re-grow all of that, so I didn't have to feel guilty later if I got a bit carried away.

I crouched on the ground, putting my weight over his legs, and lit a cigarette, waiting for his eyes to start focusing. He growled and snarled at me as his wits came back to him, but I held out my lighter and he froze, watching the dancing flame. I saw fear in his face for the first time.

"Now," I said cheerfully, wiping up some of the blood streaming down my face, "We're going to have a chat, you and me, and I expect you to be nice." He spat in my face. I moved the open lighter flame closer to his face and his eyes widened as he tried to pull his head back. The wall made this a bit difficult, and his eyes crossed as I brought the flame close enough to his nose that the small hairs in his nostrils began to singe and curl.

"I've heard your kind are a little on the flammable side," I smiled at him, "so if I were you, I'd be careful what you do next." He was agreeably still and quiet.

"Good choice. Now then, why don't you start by telling me about this O'Sullivan fellow you mentioned?"

I waited. He really didn't want to tell me. I could see the defiance building up in his eyes, so I raised the lighter a little, letting it come into light contact with his right eyebrow.

"Alright, Alright! I'll tell you!" I shrieked as the hair caught fire, "Just put it out!" I punched him. Hey, it put the fire out. And it was fun. "O'Sullivan is the last of the druids," he groaned. I hit him again. "Don't tell lies. He can't be the last, because here I stand."

"Sorry," the vampire wheezed, "He was the last of the druids. He has been training apprentices. Which is what you must be." I decided not to contradict him. The less this bastard knew about me, the better.

"And how do you know of him?" I asked, taking a draw of my cigarette. The vampire flinched back from the glow. "He…he is an enemy." I nodded.

"I'd figured that out, believe it or not. Tell me more."

"He has come to our attention recently. It was thought that the last of the druids had been cleansed form the earth, but-" I hit him in the face again. That had just been a rude thing to say.

"Keep talking," I said cooly, blowing a full breath of smoke into his face.

"But he gained notoriety some years ago after he killed two of the Tuaha de Dannan, and then helped to kill Thor," the vampire whispered.

"Sounds like he did the world a favour there," I commented "So how do I get a hold of him?"

"What?" I sank my fist into his ribs.

"No fucking around. You heard me. Where can I find this Druid? Who are his friends?"

"Uh…" I raised the flame, but the vampire shook his head, "No, no! I just need to think!"

"Well, think faster."

"Um, there's, there's a werewolf! A werewolf that works for him, his lawyer or something!"

I slapped him hard. "A name. Give me a name."

"Magnus! I think, it's Magnus!"

"Location?"

"Arizona!"

"That'll do," I said, hauling him to his feet. "Come on over here with me." I opened the lid of the dumpster. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he screeched, "I told you what you want to know!"

"Yeah," I grunted as I heaved him in, "and I decided not to stake you for it. Your lucky day." I picked up a piece of newspaper out of the filth in the alley and lit it, tossing it into the dumpster. It landed on the vampire's stomach, and his paper pale skin caught the flame like kindling. "Plus I didn't have a stake," I added, taking a long draw on my cigarette. I slammed the lid of the dumpster to drown out the vampires screeching and, in moments, it had stopped altogether. I smiled. Even after fifteen hundred years, revenge still tasted very sweet.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything okay?” Mac asked as I came back into the bar.

“Yeah, it's cool,” I said casually. I drained the glass of whiskey, trying to keep my hand from shaking.

Mac looked me up and down, taking in the blood stains on my face and shirt. "They just get more and more brazen these days, don’t they?” he asked, affecting to match my casual tone. He tossed me a bar rag. "Clean yourself up, your face is a mess."

"Yeah, he got a little lippy, I had to convince him to leave." I said, using the rag to wipe the majority of the blood from my face. Now that the fight was over, I could feel the pain in my ribs and in my face. The nose was pretty tender. Probably broken. Again. That would take a while to heal. The ribs felt as though they were just bruised, so I wasn't too concerned.

“I think after that stellar performance as the Goat's best bouncer, I'm gonna call it a night," I said, pulling my leather jacket on over my black t-shirt and picking up my keys. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Mac,” I called.

“Fair enough. You take care of yourself out there, Aylish!” he responded as I walked out, waving an acknowledgement over my shoulder.

The streets of the city were damp from the recent rain, and I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. My head was awhirl, and I felt like I had been punched in the chest. Well, I had, and it still hurt like a bitch, but I meant more in the figurative sense. The vampire's words had given me a lot to think about. All this time, all of this waiting, going it alone, hoping for the impossible miracle, all of this…pain, and there were others? I shook my head, trying to clear the sudden fog that had come over it. There was a real, living, breathing servant of Gaia walking the earth…I felt tears spring to my eyes at the mere thought.

I’m sure, looking back, that I jostled several people on my way, but I didn’t care. I hardly even saw them.  
The walk home was one of the longest I've ever had, but as soon as I was safe in my apartment, I locked the door behind me and slid down to sit on the floor, my head in my hands. My breath came in short gasps, and I felt tears rolling down my cheeks as memories flooded over me.

I saw fire and blood. Heard screams. Felt Milos’s hands tight around my arms, shaking me. I heard his voice telling me that the Romans had come, they had found us, and this was the only way. I couldn’t run, they would track my magic and hunt me down, trapping me and piercing me with their many spears. This was the only way.

I smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh and felt the sharp, white hot pain as he pressed the red iron against my heel, my ankle, my calf. Felt the gut-wrenching agony as my connection to the earth snapped. Heard Milos’s voice as he held me, promising, swearing that we would find a way to renew the connection. If we could only survive, these Romans would pass from the world like leaves in autumn, and we would find a way. The world tilted and spun, I felt myself trapped in that awful endless moment of pain, unable to escape reliving every piece of it. 

A soft tickle on my arm snapped me back to reality. Vili, my cat, was licking my arm. I was still sitting on the floor in my apartment. In Canada, not in Romania. I let out a deep sigh and scratched Vili behind the ears.  
“Thank you, cara” I whispered hoarsely. She rubbed her sinewy gray body against my leg, purring loudly.

Milos had been right, I thought with a rueful kind of satisfaction. After nearly fifteen hundred years, I had found a way. Only he was not here to see it with me. I sighed shakily, feeling suddenly very tired. Vili mewed softly, looking up at me with her deep orange eyes. “Alright,” I said with a small sigh, “Let’s get you fed.”

I lifted myself from the floor and walked into the kitchen. Opened the cupboard, pulled out Vili’s food. Found her bowl, filled it. The familiar motions calmed me somewhat, anchored me to the present. When she was settled at her dish beside the futon, I pulled off my jacket and lay back, trying to compose my mind enough to sleep. I couldn't stop it from swirling around, considering the options. I didn't have much to go on, but I had to run with it. A Magnus in Arizona could get me in touch with a Druid. Painfully, I sat back up. I had to go to Arizona.

It was four in the morning. Vili had curled herself up in my lap as I stared at the wall. I had to find this man. I suspected that the name the vampire had given me was an alias, but I needed to start somewhere. There was no way in seven hells that, after waiting for so long, that I could let go of this small ray of hope that had dropped into my life.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Mac’s number. “Aylish?” I heard his sleepy voice down the line, “Whassa matter? What time is it?”

“Sorry Mac, it’s late. I just needed to let you know that I have to quit the bar.”

“You what?” he sounded fully awake now.

“I need to quit. There’s been a family emergency, I need to get to the states as soon as possible. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” It was mostly the truth, I thought. I didn’t know when I’d be back.

“Um, okay,” Mac sounded unconvinced, “Is everything okay? You need help with anything?”

“Nah, I'll be alright. Vili's been due for a trip for a while anyway. "

“Okay… Listen, Aylish, you sure you’re alright? You sound…I don’t know, weird.”

“Come on, Mac, you know I’ve always been weird,” I said with a light tone I didn’t feel.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I could hear the smile in his voice, “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright.”

“And when you get back to town, let me know, I’ll need my bouncer back.”

“Thanks Mac, that’s awful sweet of you.”

“Bye.”

I hung up. Then I packed my bags for a trip to Arizona.


	3. Chapter 3

The heat of the desert rolled over me as I stepped out of the doors of the Phoenix International airport into the bright autumn sunshine. Thirty degree heat at the end of October seemed a little too ridiculous to be true, but I could already feel myself sweating under my leather jacket. I peeled it off and tucked it through the strap of my backpack, settling the whole package more comfortably on my shoulders. Pushing my aviators down off my forehead to shade my eyes, I looked around the street for a likely cab company to take me into Tempe.

A tall gentleman with a flowing white beard and a crimson turban flashed me a grin and began to walk over to me. "Do you need a ride to your hotel, my friend?" he asked me in a warm, courteous voice.

"To the Superstition Mountains, actually," I responded with a small smile.

"Perfect, perfect! Do come with me, I will help you with your bags, yes?" He looked around for a suitcase, but I just picked up my guitar case and Vili's carrier case.

"This is all I have," I said, "but thank you for the thought."

His bushy white eyebrows rose in surprise, "Only this for a camping trip?" he asked in surprise.

"I like to pack light," I said with a shrug, walking towards the cab he had been leaning against when I had come out of the airport. "Is this yours?"

He hurried to follow me, nodding energetically, "Yes, yes, this is the cab. Please," he added, holding the back door open for me.

I tossed my backpack in and placed the guitar case carefully on the floor in the back seat before climbing into the front seat, Vili on my lap. She had slept for most of the trip, and now sat curled up in her crate, staring at the driver.

"What brings you down to Arizona?" The old man asked as we pulled out onto Sky Harbour Boulevard.

"Mostly the scenery. I've heard that the Superstitions are a sight to be seen."

He nodded, "They are indeed, yes. Where in the mountains shall I leave you? There are a great many trails."

"You can actually leave me at the Goldfield Ghost town, if you don't mind." The driver gave me a strange look.

"You will be hiking that far on your own?" he sounded incredulous. "I can drive you a little further."

"It's not a problem," I assured him.

"As you wish." He did not sound convinced, but I wasn't concerned. Let him think I was mad. He was probably right.

We drove the rest of the way in companionable silence. I watched out the window as the mountains rose on the horizon. They certainly weren't the same kind of spectacular as the Rockies, where I had spent much of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but they had a kind of rugged appeal nonetheless.

The driver left me at the ghost town, as I had asked. The museum had been closed for a half hour by the time we arrived, and the old buildings had an eerie air as I stood there in the gathering dusk, watching the lights of the taxi fade back down the road. I let Vili out of her crate and we set off on our walk. The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, painting the jagged hills and cliffs in shocking hues of red and orange. I found myself grinning as I laboured up the slope. This was like nothing I had ever seen in my long life. I turned around to look back west into the sun. Shading my eyes, I could see what looked like the whole of the earth spread before me, washed in golden light. It was a glorious feeling, and I almost forgot why I had come.  
There was a valley that ran east and west across the mountains where the Salt River cut a deep gash into the land. I wasn't sure what it would be like up there, and I didn't really care. There was a source of fresh water and it was far enough away from people that I was at very low risk of having company. The narrow path of the river between Canyon Lake and Apache Lake was about a twenty mile walk east up into the mountains, but I found myself looking forward to the hike in. I hadn't had a chance to truly get out and stretch my legs like this for months, and by the time we had left the museum and the road behind, I had a ridiculous grin on my face.

Sure, I could have stayed at a hotel like a regular person would have, or just camped in a campsite, but there was something about the wild places of the world that brought joy to my soul. I had been living in the city for a few years now, and it was starting to grate on me. The constant presence of others, the hustle, the noise, the way you couldn't get out and see the sky…it was suffocating. It might be inconvenient for me to camp so far into the mountains, but I was looking forward to the challenge.

After a few more hours of walking, with Vili slinking quietly through the scrub grass and sand at my side, I came to the perfect hilltop place. It was a flat outcrop of rock at the end of a narrow, switchback path. The ledge stuck out over the river, and it was clear to me from this angle that it could only be reached by a difficult climb up a narrow, rocky path. One way in and out, with a solid wall of wall to my back, and a fresh water supply close by. Excellent. I hefted my pack and began the walk to the top. It was short, but took a good deal of concentration, and I was glad to see all the opportunities for imprudent enemies to slip, miss their footing, and slide down the ten feet to smack into the rocks at the edge of the river.

I crested the top of the last hill just as the moon reached the height of its track across the sky. I was delighted to see the small overhang to protect me from any weather (not that rain was a very common occurrence in Arizona) and a small spring of water flowing over the rock wall at the back north-east corner of the ledge. I couldn't have asked for a better camp. I leaned my bags against the back wall of the indent and sat on the edge of the ledge, dangling my feet and listening to the night sounds of the desert around me as the moon began to rise. The temperature also began to drop, reminding me of the heavy blanket and change of dry clothes that waited in my backpack. Once I had changed into warmer clothes and lit a fire, I allowed myself to relax a little. This would be a good base of operations for my while I searched. Out here in the desert, where hunting, climbing, and discovering this amazing ecosystem would keep my mind from travelling down dark paths. Vili had managed to capture a gopher while I had been making camp, and she sat curled up near my feet, picking at the meat. She was a strange cat, and seldom played with her food before eating, for which I was very grateful. At least I wouldn't have to worry about feeding her up here. I could hear the rustle and shuffle of many small feet in the undergrowth around me.

I rested my back against the rock wall. Wrapped in my heavy blanket, I could feel just enough of the chill desert air to be perfectly comfortable. Pleasantly exhausted from the flight and the long walk, I let my mind wander and, within moments, I had drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, I cleaned myself up using the fresh cold water from the spring. Then, breaking my fast on the pads of a prickly pear cactus and leaving some agave and saguaro to roast in a pit fire for the day, I headed off on my walk into the city. Once I hit the metropolitan area of Tempe, I allowed myself to walk slowly, taking in the new sights and sounds of the streets. If was far different than any city I had ever been to and, to my surprise, I found myself liking it. The desert air felt different on my skin, but not unpleasant, and the light breeze kept me cool enough. I felt a few stares as passing folk caught sight of the intricate celtic knotwork creeping out from under the right sleeve of my Dropkick Murphys t-shirt, but they took in the dark jeans, short spiked hair, and combat boots, and accounted me a crazy college punk. I wasn't bothered. As many magical and non-magical folk before me have discovered, blending in -even being underestimated- is perhaps the best protection anyone can hope for. Things are not always what they seem, but the more you can seem to be less than you are, the safer you'll be. Say that ten times fast, I dare you.

According to my Google searching during the flight, there were two 'Magnus' law firms in the state of Arizona. The first hit, Magnusson and Hauk, were based here in Tempe and, from their website, appeared to be quite a high-end law firm. Good thing I'd brought my wallet. The second hit, E. Magnus Eriksson, was based out of Scotsdale, and would be my second stop, if my time at Magnusson and Hauk was not as fruitful as I hoped it would be.

Turning down one of the busier streets, I approached an attractive steel and glass façade. Stamped on the door in an attractive sans-serif font read "Magnusson and Hauk: Attorneys at Law". This looked like the place. Swallowing a sudden spate of nerves, I pushed open door and entered the air-conditioned lobby. The receptionist, a pretty blonde woman in a navy skirt, white blouse, and fake smile, greeted me as I entered.

"How can we help you today?"

I cleared my throat, feeling suddenly very out of place in this modern metal box. "I'd like to speak with Mr. Hauk please," I said, choosing one of the lawyers at random and trying my best to sound calm and collected. I wasn't, of course, and the woman knew it.

"I'm afraid Mr. Hauk is a very busy man," she said briskly. She broke eye contact and looked back down at her computer screen, giving me a very clear signal that the conversation was over. Her condescension and downright rudeness irked me, and I felt a rush of cold anger seep in to drive out the nervousness. The tattoo on my left arm burned a little.

"Too busy for potential business?" I said icily, "How very un-American of him."

The receptionist heard the new tone in my voice, and she looked up. I stared at her, letting her see the challenge in my eyes. A small voice at the back of my mind reminded me that, according to my vampiric informant, this law firm was run by werewolves. If it was anything like werewolf law firms I knew in Edmonton, then this woman was probably part of the pack, and it might not be a good idea to piss her off. The larger voice in my mind informed the other voice that I didn't give two shits if she was part of the pack or not. She had provoked me, and was standing in between me and my goal. I've had my fair share of dominance contests with werewolves and come away the victor, so I turned up the aggression in my aura and let her try to sit it out. She dropped her eyes in less than ten heartbeats, which surprised me. She was either a normal human, or pretty low down on the pack hierarchy. The few wolves of the Edmonton Pack I'd had occasion to tangle with usually held out for a solid minute, at least long enough for everyone in the room to get uncomfortable.

"If Mr. Hauk's schedule is full this afternoon," I continued, "Then please book me in at his earliest convenience."

"He has an opening in a half hour," the woman said, still looking at her computer screen, "would that work alright for you?" I resisted the urge to grin at how she had suddenly become the picture of politeness.

"That would be entirely satisfactory," I said evenly.

"May I have your name please?" she inquired.

"Aylish McMann," I answered, giving her the name on my Alberta driver's license.

"Please feel free to wait on the couches, Ms. McMann," the receptionist told me sweetly, gesturing to the far side of the room, "Mr. Hauk will be with you shortly."

"Thanks," I murmured, turning towards the hard and uncomfortable looking black leather couches that sat against the far wall. I took my seat and waited patiently, elbows resting on my knees. It was a nice office, if a bit sleek and shiny for my tastes. The fountain on the wall burbled quietly, and I was glad to have the noise to help focus my mind on the coming conversation. I was unsure how to tackle this issue. I had not anticipated that I would be speaking with the werewolf so soon, and I felt a bit unprepared. The adrenaline rose, and I felt my chest and shoulders tighten a little, but I kept my panic back. If he told me no, or brushed me off, I would just move on to the next lead. I was patient. I could wait.

The clock on the wall over the secretary's desk ticked softly along, and in very little time, the door to the right of the desk opened, and a tall blonde man in a silver suit walked out. For some reason, he was a bit…more of a person than I had expected him to be. I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose, but he had an almost magnetic quality to him that I hadn't expected. The silver suited him well, an excellent off-set to his stark blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore a pair of silver rimmed spectacles that seemed somehow out of place on his face, but my impression was of a man who chose his wardrobe with care and purpose, so there must be a reason for them. He spoke softly with the receptionist for a moment then turned to approach me, a calm, professional look on his face.

"Ms. McMann?" he asked politely, his baritone voice tinged with the tiniest trace of an accent. He took one large hand from his pocket and held it out to me.

"Yes," I answered. I stood, taking his hand in mine. His grip was firm, but not overpowering. Honest, I thought, though I felt that he could turn up the dominance if he had need of it. A man to be wary of, to be sure.

"Come on back," he gestured for me to follow as he walked towards the door. He guided me silently to a sleek and stylish office closer to the back of the building. He sat behind a large desk, and gestured for me to take the chair across from him.

"So what can I do for you, Ms. McMann?" he asked, resting his elbows on the desk and looking at me over laced fingers.

"I find myself in need of your services, sir," I answered politely, "Specifically, I am hoping you can help me to find someone or, at the very least, get a message to them." Gods below, but this was a difficult conversation to improvise.

Hauk raised one blonde eyebrow. "Find someone?" he said skeptically, "Ms. McMann, I am a defense attorney, not a private investigator. Least of all a post man."

I allowed myself a small smile, "A fair point, sir, but I believe you can assist me in this particular case. I am looking for a gentleman by the name of Atticus O'Sullivan."

Hauk's face was carefully neutral. "I'm sorry, but Atticus O'Sullivan is dead."

I felt like someone had punched me in the chest. I took a deep breath, and coughed slightly to cover my sudden feeling of vertigo.

"Well, shit," I said hoarsely. I hadn't seen that coming. I'd thought, at worst, that he'd brush me off or have no ideas who I was looking for. But this…this was worse than I had expected. When you've got vampires as far away as Canada gunning for you, I suppose things probably weren't going all that well in the world. But it was somehow worse, I found, to have been offered the chance of being rebound to the earth and then to have it snatched away at the last moment by something as…mundane as death.

The werewolf was frowning across the desk at me. "Ms. McMann, are you alright?"

The frustration tasted bitter in my mouth, but I did my best to swallow it back. "Well, no, Mr. Hauk, but I'll manage, I suppose. Thank you for asking."

I saw him glance down at my right arm, then back up to my pale face. "I apologize if I shocked you. Were you well acquainted with Mr. O'Sullivan?"

"Ah…no, I wouldn't call it that." I managed a wry smile. "In fact, I just heard of him two days ago. There was a matter of…considerable personal urgency that I was hoping for Mr. O'Sullivan's help to…bring to a close."

Hauk looked at me for several long moments, appraising me, it seemed. "Of course, if there were any way in which his estate might assist you in your personal matter, I would be pleased to advise you," he said at last.

I smiled sadly. "Thank you, Mr. Hauk," I said quietly, "but, unfortunately, Mr. O'Sullivan's estate will be of very little use to me. I require, or rather I required, a personal favor of a more tangible nature." I rose from my chair.

"I apologize for wasting your time, Mr. Hauk." I reached for my wallet and pulled out one of the business cards Mac had had printed for the bar a few years back. "I assume you invoice for your services?"

"Yes, we do." He seemed unbalanced by my sudden shift back to business, but he recovered himself well. "Where would you like us to send your bill?"

"If you would send it to Littlechild Law in Edmonton, I would appreciate it." I wrote the name and number of my lawyer, Mark Lightwing, on the back of the card.

"Not at all," he said, rising from his seat and offering me his hand once more, "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

I shook it, being careful to look him straight in the eye. "Not at all. It's not your fault I couldn't get here earlier."

He still had that strange expression on his face as he looked at me, somewhere between mistrust and sympathy, and I wasn't sure I liked it. I needed to leave. This whole trip had been a wild shot in the dark, and I needed time alone to nurse my shattered hopes.

"Enjoy your afternoon, Mr. Hauk," I said over my shoulder as I left the office, not bothering to wait for a reply. I managed to make it all the way to the trail head before I let myself cry.


	4. Chapter 4

If there's anything I've learned from living for over two thousand years, it's that something always comes up. Those idyllic moments that you tell yourself you'll have time for later always seem to slip from your grasp, as insubstantial as mist, and if you're not careful, they can escape from your life altogether. That's why I've always made a point to take the time to enjoy the little things. A good cup of coffee. A well-crafted breakfast omelette. The feel of my legs after a long run. The look of the sun as it dances through the copper hair of my lover. I sighed, lifting my arms over my head and really committing to a long, exuberant stretch. It was a good time to be alive. This would be our last day up in Colorado. We had shifted down Arizona to meet up with Hal the day before, and a part of me was itching to find out what it was that Werner Drasche wanted from me so bad that he was willing to kill one of my friends to get it. My blood boiled as I thought of the message he had left. It had been a mistake to let him live at our last encounter, but I wasn't going to be half so merciful the second time.

Granuaile stirred next to me, opening a sleepy eye.

"Morning," I murmured, lightly caressing her cheek. She snuggled closer to me.

"Does it have to be?" she asked. I smiled.

"Not if you don't want it to be."

_It's totally time for you two to get up! You've been sleeping for like, twelve days!_ I heard Oberon chide…three seconds before he and Orlaith landed on the bed in a tangled pile of slobbery, starving wolfhound. 

"Orlaith!" Granuaile shrieked as the wolfhounds coerced us with salivary attention, "Okay, okay, I'm getting up, just…get off!"

The hounds bounded off the bed as we followed them out to the kitchen. Granuaile gave me a quick kiss before crossing to the freezer to grab some breakfast sausages for Oberon and Orlaith. I checked my phone as she got started with breakfast, and noticed two missed calls from Hal. Frowning, I hit his number and stepped outside into the bright Colorado sun to make the call.

"Atticus?" Hal growled down the line.

"Hey, Hal, what's up?" I didn't bother to keep the concern from my voice. My lawyer sounded uncomfortable.

"I uh…I had someone in my office yesterday looking for you," he said slowly. When I was silent, he added, "Looking for Atticus O'Sullivan. I thought I should let you know."

"Okaaay…?" I said, drawing out the word, "So Atticus O'Sullivan is dead, right? What's the problem, Hal?"

"Well, yeah, I told her you were dead, and she…well, she looked pretty shook up," he answered after a long pause.

My frown deepened, "Hal, you're not making sense, back up. You had a woman in your office looking for Atticus O'Sullivan. What kind of woman? What did she want?"

My lawyer sighed, "She told the secretary that her name was Aylish McMann," he said, "and she told me that she had some personal business that she was hoping to resolve with you. I told her you'd died, and she nearly passed out in my office. I asked if the estate could be of use in resolving her personal business, and she said no. I took her contact information for payment, then she left."

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Hal, I've never met an Aylish McMann in my life, much less been related to one. What did she look like?"

"She had druidic tattoos, Atticus," Hal said gravely.

"Uh…." I said, the picture of eloquence. Hal spoke over my silence.

"She had that weird loop on the back of her right hand, same as you. And the contact she gave me is the second of the pack up in Edmonton," he added. 

"Right," I said, my head spinning a bit, "so has she been back?"

"No."

I could feel my paranoia singing a song of danger in my head. Strange women with druidic tattoos showing up in Tempe looking for Atticus O'Sullivan were enough to start my alarm bells ringing. I knew the only other druids walking the earth these days, so who was she and what did she want?

"Alright, Hal, thanks for letting me know. Maybe you'd better give me the number for the guy in Edmonton. If this is a set-up, I don't want the cops breathing down our necks again."

Hal agreed and gave me the number. Before I hung up, I asked him one more crucial question. "What did she smell like, Hal? Anything weird?"

"No, that was the weird thing" Hal sounded as confused as I felt, "She just smelled like…well like a mortal. One with a cat and a mean smoking habit."

"Ok, thanks. I'll look into it."

I hung up with Hal and headed back into the cabin, trying to sort out the new information. Was she working with vampires? A pawn of Theophilus? Was she somehow connected with Werner Drasche? Would calling this…Lightwing guy be walking into a trap? It was a damn strange trap, but my enemies had already proven themselves to be sneaky bastards with very few scruples, so that didn't rule anything out.

Granuaile had begun cooking the sausages, and the delicious smell washed over me as I walked into the kitchen, still rolling the possibilities around in my head.

"Hey, do you want- Atticus what's wrong?" she asked, frowning as she studied my face.

"Hal just called. He's had someone in his office looking for me," I said, setting my phone down on the table.

Granuaile frowned. "That's two people that have wanted to talk to you in the last week," she said slowly, "should we be concerned yet?"

I shrugged, determined not to let the news spoil the morning, "I'm not sure. I've got some people to call, but then I might have to take a trip back down to Arizona to meet up with Hal. He sounded…weird on the phone. Rattled, almost."

_I'm telling you, werewolves are always so uptight!_ Oberon commented _They need to relax._

"You're probably right, buddy," I said with a smile.

So does that mean I get extra sausages?

Granuaile and I both laughed, and the morning seemed to regain some of its earlier glow. "We'll see," I told Oberon. "You'll have to finish this plate first," Granuaile said, dishing up two plates.

_Mission accepted!_ Oberon said, wagging his tail as Granuaile set the plates down on the floor.

Granuaile sat down beside me as the hounds chowed down on succulent sausages. "Is this some kind of trap?" she said, putting her hand over mine. I admired her growing sense of paranoia. It wasn't quite as developed as my own, but it was well on its way, and I hoped that it would help to keep her alive as the conflicts on our horizon continued to grow in number.

"I honestly don't know," I sighed. "But I think I should call the number Hal gave me and see what I can find out."

"Okay. So…do you want chives and tomatoes in your omelette?" Granuaile asked with a small smile.

I grinned in return, "That sounds delightful."

"Go ahead and make the call," she said, getting up and giving me a quick peck on the cheek, "I'll cook this time."

I dialled the number Hal had given me. A gruff baritone greeted my ears as the call was answered.

"Littlechild Law, Mark Lightwing speaking."

"Yes, is this the attorney of record for Ms. Aylish McMann?" I asked, trying to pitch my voice to match the business-like tone on the other end of the line. There was a short pause.

"Yes. How can I help you?" Wariness. Interesting.

"I met with Ms. McMann earlier this week, and she gave me your name as a contact and said you would be able to reach her? Silence greeted me. I waited.

"I can certainly pass a message on," the lawyer responded finally, "Can I tell her who the message is from, please?"

"Yes, tell her it's from Hal Hauk, of Magnusson and Hauk in Tempe, Arizona," I answered, the lie coming smoothly from my lips. "Please let her know that I have made some inquiries, and might be able to assist her with the problem she brought to my attention."

"Of course," Mark Lightwing responded smoothly. If I had taken him aback with my earlier inquiries, he was back into his stride now. "And a number you can be reached at, Mr. Hauk?"

I gave him my cell number and we hung up. Now we'd just have to wait and see who called me back.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke as the early morning sun began to light the tips of the mountains. I had slept well out in the desert air, and felt refreshed after the exertion of the day before. The disappointment and bitterness had started to set in on my hike back from Tempe, but I hoped that a day of hunting and wandering this beautiful mountain wilderness would set me right while I tried to figure out what to do next. At the very least, there were several prospects for good climbing in the area. I rose and I stretched and filled myself a cup of water from the spring. It was cool and clear, and woke me up fully. My next goal was to find myself some breakfast. I was vaguely familiar with the wildlife in the Superstitions, and I was hoping for a mule deer, or a javelina at the very least.

I clicked open my guitar case and spent a few moments admiring the gorgeous instrument inside it before I reached underneath the body of the guitar to open the hidden compartment set into the back of the case. I pulled two twin knives from the thin, lead-lined compartment, along with their sheaths. They were artifacts of another life, long ago, and I had carried them with me since I was first accepted as a druid initiate. The blades were long and razor sharp, and the hilts were made of carved whalebone with circles of yew and holly set flush with the bone. They were magnificent craft in their day, and they had born the years well. I sheathed one on each hip, and was just making ready for the climb down the side of the mesa when my phone rang.

I picked up and heard Mark Lightwing's voice.

"Aylish?" he inquired gruffly.

"Hello Mark, what can I do for you?" I said calmly.

"I just received one of the strangest phone calls of my legal career," he said sardonically, "and it was a message for you."

"Well, congratulations on the new record. What was the message?"

"From a Hal Hauk," Lightwing answered, "it was pretty vague. He said he had made some inquiries, and he wanted you to call him back. Shall I give you the number?"

"Sure." He read the number out and I categorized it in my memory. I could tell that Mark wanted to ask me about the message, but he was a professional right to the core, and kept his thoughts to himself.

"I'll let you know if I hear anything else from this guy," he said, "Enjoy your morning, Aylish."

"Thanks, Mark, you too. Take care."

I hung up. Then I stared at my phone. Inquiries? About a dead man? A part of me wanted to wait, to draw out the waiting, hold off the hope, but I dismissed that thought. Though I couldn't imagine what he wanted, Mr. Hauk had obviously made some small effort on my part, and it would be rude to keep him waiting. So I dialed the number Mark had given me and listened to the ring tone, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The phone was answered with a curt "Hello?" Not what I had been expecting at all. I took refuge in years of bartending and booking tables over the phone. 

"Hello," I responded courteously, "May I speak with Mr. Hauk?"

"You've got him," came the response. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. That wasn't the werewolf's voice, unless he had been kicked really hard in the fruits. I decided to plow on.

"Mr. Hauk, this is Aylish McMann returning your call. I understand from my legal counsel that you wished to speak with me?" There. I'd been polite, now the ball was in this…stranger's court.

"Yes, I have been able to contact a representative of Mr. O'Sullivan," the man said, "he was hoping to meet with you. Can I give him a location?" This was getting really very strange. If the hairs on my neck could have stood any higher, they would have. I felt a surge of anger overwhelm the paranoia. I was done pissing around. If this asshole, whoever he was, wanted to play games, then he could fuck right off, as far as I was concerned. I didn't have time to trade vague coded phone messages with some phantom.

"You can tell him I'm waiting for him in the Superstition Mountains," I said shortly, my voice cool, "Good day to you, Mr. Hauk." I hung up the phone, my hand shaking. I wasn't some kind of secret agent, for Brigid's sake, and I'd be damned if I was going to run around playing damn fool parlour games when so much was at stake.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. It didn't really help, and the tattoo on my left biceps still burned with the heat of my anger, but I felt better for having made the effort. The temperature had already started to climb and I pulled off my sweater. I'd be better off in my tank top if I was going to be climbing over rocks and rough terrain in the heat. Hoping that a hunt would help to steady my nerves, I made my way to the ledge and began the climb down the side of the mesa.

As I made my way down the rock, I realized just how much I hated needing help. No matter how much I tried to hide it, I was in a weak position here. I needed another druid to rebind me to the Earth, and that meant that, no matter how strange the situation got, or how much the stakes rose, I would have to stay in the game. It was a frustrating realization that my whole future, the culmination of fifteen hundred years of waiting and searching, was completely dependent on the whim of a man I hardly knew. I ground my teeth, feeling the hot anger threatening to bubble over again. But I knew it didn't matter. I had picked my place and time, and I was stuck. All there was to do was go for a hunt and a climb, and try not to think about it.

I called to Vili, and we set off into the sunny river valley to try and catch ourselves some breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, that was enlightening," I said, hanging up the phone as Granuaile brought breakfast over to the table for us.

"Did you get a location?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Yep," I responded, "The Superstition Mountains."

 _That place where Hal and I got kidnapped two years ago?_ Oberon asked. He and Orlaith had finished their sausages, and were lying stretched out and satisfied on the floor beneath the table.

"Almost thirteen years ago, but yes," I answered, starting in on the omelette Granuaile had prepared. It was delicious, and I took a moment to savour it.

"At least if it's a trap, it's on home ground," Granuaile said as she ate her own breakfast. "Are we going to check it out?"

I sighed, "I don’t really see how we can't. If it is a trap, then you're right, better that we spring it in a place we have the homefield advantage. And if it's not, I think we at least owe it a look."

She nodded, "I agree."

 _Can we go hunting while we're there?_ Oberon asked, his tail thumping hopefully against the floor of the cabin, We never did catch one of those desert bighorns!

I smiled, "We'll see buddy. I think we should find out if someone is laying a trap for us first, though."

 _I feel like your paranoia keeps you from staying focused on the important goals._ Oberon commented.

We finished our breakfast and Granuaile and I both took a shower while the hounds played outside. In an hour or so we were ready to head back to Arizona.

We shifted in to a bound tree in the Superstition Wilderness, which was thriving at last. After Aenghus Og had opened a portal to hell and killed the land around Tony Cabin, Granuaile and I had spent much of her 12 year apprenticeship rehabilitating and healing the land. I allowed myself a moment to savour the life teeming beneath my feet before putting such thoughts aside. The potential for traps meant I had to stay focused. I drew Fragarach. Granuaile had a throwing knife in her left hand and Scathmhaide in her right. I shucked off my sandals and let my bare foot touch the ground, so I could check in with the elemental of the Sonoran desert. If there was a trap waiting for us here, I hoped Sonora would be able to give us a heads up. I sent a message to it in the series of emotions and concepts that elementals use for language.

_Greetings. Harmony._

_Druids welcome. Harmony,_ came the response. Sonora sounded pleased to see us, and it warmed my heart. It had been a long time since we had communicated, and I missed Arizona more than I had realized. Before we continued on our way, I thought it was worthwhile to ask Sonora if anything strange had been going on.

 _Query: gods or strange magic in area?_ I asked. It didn't cover all the bases, but if would narrow down possible threats.

 _No gods_ , Sonora answered, _no magic._ Then, un-solicited, he said, _Broken Druid seeks Druid_. The information caught me off guard, and I sent _confusion_ back before I had a chance to get my thoughts in order.

"Did you hear that?" Granuaile asked me, confusion in her voice as well.

"Yeah," I said. To Sonora, I sent _Query: Broken Druid?_

 _Affirmation_ , he answered, _Broken Druid un-bound. Sorrow. Pain. Longing._

"Is that even possible?" Granuaile breathed. I took a deep breath.

"I honestly don't know. I mean, I suppose it's theoretically possible, if the tattoos on the heel were destroyed somehow, but…" I trailed off.

"I think we should find them," Granuaile said after a pause.

"Agreed." To Sonora, I sent _Query: location of Broken Druid?_

Sonora showed me a small clearing on the shore of the Salt River further into the mountains. We started running, the hounds on our heels.

_Where are we going Atticus? _Oberon asked, _Is it a trap?___

__"I don't think so, buddy," I said, rapidly re-evaluating the situation as the possibilities ran through my head, "I think there might be someone who needs our help."_ _

__"All the same," Granuaile said, "do you think we should go in camouflage?"_ _

__"Good plan," I agreed, and triggered the charm on my necklace. A plea for help would be the perfect kind of trap. And if this Broken Druid was working for someone like Werner Drasche, or worse, the vampire Theophilos, then this could become a dicey situation very quickly. It wouldn't do to come in unprepared. I also cast camouflage on Oberon. Granuaile triggered the invisibility charm on Scathmhaide and I heard her speak the binding for camouflage on Orlaith._ _

__We slowed as we approached the place that Sonora had indicated. There was a fairly decent cover of scrub bushes, manzanita, and mesquite trees down here by the river, and plenty of shade. I couldn't see anyone as we approached. _Oberon_ , I asked, _can you tell Granuaile and Orlaith to spread out and come around from the other side?__ _

___Sure_ , my hound answered. The trees were unnaturally quiet as we approached. Not for the first time, I wished I had a spell like Coyote's 'clever stalking' that would silence our footfalls. They suddenly seemed very loud in my ears. _Atticus!_ Oberon said, alarm in his tone, _there's someone else here!__ _

___Where?_ I asked. I heard him sniff the air._ _

___Down on the river bank, I think,_ he said, _and there's something dead down there too…it smells like…deer, maybe__ _

___Thanks buddy_. As we crept down towards the river bank, he suddenly froze again. _There's a cat!_ He said, clearly disgusted. After a few steps, I could see what Oberon had smelled. There was a woman by the river, cleaning the blades of two long knives in the clear water of the Salt River._ _

__Her back was to us, but I could see that she was small and lean of build, tightly muscled with close cropped dark hair. Beside her on the bank lay the body of a young mule deer buck that she had begun to dress out. Its throat was slashed open, and the blood oozed out into a wide puddle, soaking the sand and grass of the bank. How she had managed to bring down the deer with only those long knives as a weapon was a mystery to me, but it spoke volumes of her skill with the blades. My paranoia slid up a notch. And then my breath hitched in my throat. She wore a black tank top tucked into her tight-legged jeans, and down her right arm snaked a line of Celtic knot work identical to the one on my arm and on Granuaile's. Strangely, though, another tattoo graced her left biceps. It was inked in deep black, and it was not a design I recognized. At her feet, lapping at the blood flowing from the buck's throat, was a large grey housecat._ _

__As we drew closer, the woman suddenly froze, then whipped around, the long blades flashing in both hands as she backed up to the edge of the bank to prevent a flanking manouvere. The cat ceased its meal and stood up, arching its back and letting out a low yowl._ _

__"Who goes there?" the woman called, a challenge in her voice._ _

__"Friends to this ground, and liegemen to the Dane," I called back. I couldn't help it. I mean, when someone just gives you the line like that…I heard Granuaile sigh in exasperation at my immaturity, but decided to ignore it._ _

__The woman on the bank did not relax her knife-fighter's crouch one inch. Instead, she glared at the empty space where she thought my voice had come from. "If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is," she said, her voice flat and harsh. Wow. She had just seen my Shakespeare and upped me one William Blake._ _

__Rather than risk what could obviously be a quote battle of epic proportion, I switched to Old Irish and called "We are looking for Aylish McMann."_ _

__"Well you've found her," the woman said calmly in the same language,"So make your faces and purposes plain."_ _

__I dispelled my camouflage and stepped out from the shadow of a mesquite tree. When the woman saw my raised sword, she immediately switched grip on one of her long knives, preparing to throw it at me. I quickly lowered Fragarach and raised my left hand._ _

__"We mean you no harm," I said, keeping my voice calm and even, "We're here to help you." She only stared at me, suspicion clear in her eyes. _She doesn't seem that friendly,_ Oberon said, _should I bark at her?__ _

___That would be just about the worst thing you could do right now, buddy_ , I answered. Obviously the assurances hadn't gone as well as I had hoped. I cleared my throat and continued._ _

__"My name is Atticus O'Sullivan," I said, being careful to keep my voice and stance as neutral as possible, so as not to alarm the lady with the pointy knives, "I was told you were looking for me."_ _

__"And who else is with you?" the woman asked, pointing the tip of one of her knives towards the place where Granuaile stood, still invisible._ _

__"Granuaile McTiarnyn, another druid, and our two hounds," I answered. Granuaile dropped her invisibility and stood still, her arms relaxed at her sides._ _

__The woman appraised Granuaile for a moment before lowering her knives to her sides. She didn't sheathe them, but I figured small steps were still progress._ _

__"What makes you think I need your help?"_ _

__I really wasn't sure how to answer that, but I opted for the truth. "I spoke with the Sonoran elemental upon my arrival, and it informed me that there was a druid in the area who was looking for me."_ _

__The blood drained slowly from the woman's face. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her knives into two matching leather sheaths on her hips. I noticed that her hands were shaking. "I suppose that the hospitable thing to do would be to invite you to share my dinner, since I have no home to invite you into," the woman said after a moment, "Though I should warn you that it isn't quite ready yet." She gestured down at the carcass of the deer. _I don't know what she's talking about, it looks perfect to me_ Oberon said in some confusion._ _

__I exchanged glances with Granuaile, and she nodded. "We and our hounds would be glad to share your meal," I said courteously._ _

__She nodded, and bent once more beside the body of the deer, seeming reluctant to exchange any more words. It occurred to me belatedly that she was nervous. Not just aggressive and easily startled, but really and truly unsure of how to handle this social situation._ _

__"Is there anything we can do to help?" Granuaile asked as we approached. The woman looked up, surprised by the question. "Do you have a knife?" she asked. Granuaile nodded, pulling one of her throwing knives out of the sheath on her thigh. "Then you can start on the front legs." She nodded towards the head of the deer as she proceeded to cut the skin loose and peel back the fascia._ _

__As the only one without a knife, I had a good opportunity to observe the 'broken' druid while we worked. Her movements were quick and sure, but there was something about her eyes that made me think she wasn't entirely focused on her task. Her aura, when I took the time to examine it, churned with the murky red and grey of anger and fear, and was overlaid with a dirty grey that told me she was bottling up some pretty dire shit. Well. Good to know. This Aylish was playing the dutiful host, but this wasn't likely to be a happy conversation._ _

__Within moments, Aylish and Granuaile had the deer dressed out and had several cuts of meat. Oberon and Orlaith stood by watching the proceedings with interest. _Can I eat It yet?_ Oberon asked. _I think maybe we should ask her permission first,_ I told him, _just to be polite. Do we have to?_ he whined, staring at the deer._ _

__Aylish looked up at the sound and she saw the longing look on Oberon's face. "Please," she said, gesturing to the two thick hind legs, "tell your hounds to help themselves. I'd hate for the meat to lose its flavour in the sun."_ _

___See!_ Oberon said as he and Oralith attacked the two legs of venison. _This lady knows how to be hospitable. You should tell her she's awesome. It's only fair.__ _

__I could tell by Granuaile's face that Orlaith was expressing similar sentiments.  
"Our hounds would both like to thank you," I told her, deciding to paraphrase._ _

__"They are most welcome," she said over her shoulder as she and Granuaile washed their hands in the river._ _

__She turned back to the deer carcass and then considered the two of us. "Would you care to return to my camp?" she asked. "It is not a grand place, but it is a well-protected with good water, and supplies to cook the deer more to the liking of humans. "_ _

__"Of course," Granuaile smiled. "Can we help you carry the meat?"_ _

__"I would be grateful if you would, it is not a long walk," she responded. We all shouldered some meat and began to walk after out host towards her camp, the hounds trailing behind us._ _


	7. Chapter 7

After a walk of about fifteen minutes, the camp was revealed to be an outcrop of rock that hung over the river like a diving board, with a little piece stuck back into the body of the cliff to protect it from the sun and the weather. On our way to the top of the winding path that led to the ledge, our host stopped us beneath the shade of a tenacious mesquite tree and led us a few steps off the path. It appeared that she had dug a pit fire, and something delicious had been roasting in there for some time. The smoke that rose from the rocks that covered the pit was fragrant with the smell of spices and some kind of vegetable I didn't recognize.

The grey cat had followed us, and it leapt nimbly up onto the ledge, a piece of red meat in its mouth. Oberon watched it suspiciously, and I heard a low growl start in his throat. _Atticus, do I have to sit with that cat?_ He asked.

 _Yes, buddy, you do,_ I told him firmly. _This isn't the Widow's house, you don't have permission to chase the cat._

_It's giving me a look._

_You're going to have to let it look._

Aylish moved the stones aside with a long stick and carefully moved a few slabs of what looked like saguaro body to the side of the pit. "There should be space here for some of the meat," she said, "If you'll place it here, I'll get us some spice."

She leapt up the last few feet to the top of the ledge where a beat up ruck sack waited. She came back with a small wooden box. When the lid was opened, I saw that it was divided on the inside, and small packets of different herbs and spices were neatly placed inside. Our host chose a few packets and began to rub them into the meat.

When she had finished, she moved the saguaro to the outside of the pit and covered the meat over with the hot rocks. "It will be some while until it's cooked through, but I can offer you some cactus in the meantime," she said, confirming my guess. "I'm told that it is quite a nourishing meal."

 _She's gonna make you eat a cactus?_ Oberon said, looking up momentarily from his leg of venison. _That doesn't sound much like hospitality to me…_

 _She's right, it's actually quite good for us_ , I told him. _The natives of this region have eaten it this way for centuries._

_Okaaay…_

"That sounds wonderful," Granuaile said, helping our hostess to carry the hot cactus up onto the rock outcrop. "How long did you leave it to cook?" she asked as we all sat ourselves in a rough circle on the sandstone, the cactus on the ground between us.

"It's been cooking slowly in there all morning," Aylish said as she sliced the cactus into large chunks and passed them around. "I confess I've never tried it this way, so I hope it's to your liking."

I bit into my chunk of cactus and let the warm juices flow over my tongue. It was…pulpy, and somewhat bland in and of itself, but it had been well seasoned. All in all, it wasn't a bad snack.

"It's…interesting," Granuaile said with a frown, chewing the cactus slowly. "Not bad, just interesting."

 _Ask her how it smells_ , Oberon snorted.

"Well I'm glad it's edible," our host said. She reached over to her pack and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," I responded with a smile.

"You…you smoke?" Granuaile asked in confusion.

"Yes," Aylish took a draw on the lit cigarette and let the smoke out. It wreathed her head like a misty halo in the sun.

"But…isn't it…"

"Bad for my health? This body is very difficult to damage," Aylish said with a sardonic smile, "But I keep making the effort. It would be a shame to let up in the face of a challenge.'

"Right." Granuaile was silent after that, but she looked troubled.

"Thank you for sharing your meal and your camp with us," I said in an attempt to leave the sudden awkwardness behind and move on to business.

"It was my pleasure."

There was a long silence. Obviously this conversation was going to require a bit more effort on my part. I cleared my throat and exchanged looks with Granuaile. She raised her eyebrows and her eyes widened. It was a comfort to know that she was finding this whole situation as bizarre as I was. I decided to stick to the questioning route. It's never a good idea to let your enemies know exactly how much you know and, while I wasn't sure that Aylish was an enemy, I wasn't sure she was a friend either.

"I was quite surprised when my attorney told me you were looking for me," I said conversationally, "How did you hear of me?"

The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. "I heard your name from a vampire that was trying to cause some trouble in the bar where I bounce," she said. "I was ah…convincing him that it might be a good idea to leave, and he happened to remark on my tattoos." she gestured to her right arm. "Now, I haven't been accused of being a druid in a long while, and I was naturally quite curious to know how he had identified my origin correctly. Your name…well, it came up in conversation."

"Sorry," Granuaile interjected, "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Aylish responded equitably, "but I have been living in Alberta for some time now."

That dialled my paranoia up another notch. If vampires as far as Alberta had heard about me, that told me two important things. Firstly, Theophilos was using his vampire network to try and hunt me down, which didn't surprise me all that much. Secondly, that vampire network was a bit more active than I had hoped.

"And what became of this vampire?" I asked, watching her face closely.

She shrugged, "I threw him in the dumpster and lit him on fire." Her voice was so nonchalant that I almost didn't believe her.

"You just…threw him in the dumpster?" Granuaile asked, sounding incredulous.

"Oh, I hit him first. I've found that's the trick with vampires. If you hit them hard and fast enough, the weak ones can't get their healing sorted out fast enough to put up a fight."

Right. An unbound human just hit a vampire in the face until he stopped struggling, then threw him in a dumpster and lit him on fire. It wasn't the most plausible thing I'd ever heard.

The incredulity must have showed on our faces, because Aylish's gaze drifted down to the ground, and a somewhat self-conscious smirk played over her lips. She ran a hand through her short cropped dark hair and let out a shaky breath.

"Well," she said softly, "I can see that I had better tell you my story in full before I make my request."

"I think that would be a good idea," I said, keeping my face still as I prepared my mind for a long sit.

Her blue-grey eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I saw the apprehension in them. "I ask you to bear with me," she said, her voice so low I could hardly hear her. "It is a long tale, and not easy in the telling."

I simply nodded, and waited for her to begin.

"I was born in Ireland, in what is now County Antrim, nearly twenty years after the birth of Christ," our host began. "Though I have gone by many names in my life, I was born Findabhair O Phelane. My childhood was pleasant enough, but not germane to this tale. It will suffice to say that, in my tenth year, I was apprenticed to the druid Helygen, was trained, and became a full druid at the age of 22. In that time, it was customary for newly bound druids to remain with their archdruids for some years until they had achieved full mastery of their shapes changes and other magic. When I felt that I had learned all that my archdruid could teach me, I chose to travel to the continent, to see what other lessons could be learned from the folk there. I narrowly missed the Roman conquest of Britain, and made my way without incident across Aquitania, Belgica, and up into Magna Germania. I swung wide to the north in an attempt to avoid the rapidly growing Roman empire.

I saw many strange sights and met many strange folk in my travels, but those are tales for another time. Suffice to say that in about 45 AD I journeyed south with a group of Germanic traders into the land of Dacia in what is now Romania. It was a fair land, full of fierce, lively, hard-working folk, and I found it to be much to my liking. I parted company from my Germanic companions and resolved to stay in Dacia for a time. I travelled from village to village, learning the language, immersing myself in the vibrant life I found there. There were many folk in the villages and farms who were quite appreciative both of my tale spinning and my skill with healing and herb lore.

After many months of travel, I settled for a time in the city of Cetea. The community of escaped Roman slaves in the city provided ample opportunity for me to practice my skills, and I found the task well to my liking. In my time among the community, I came into contact with Milos, a high priest of Veles, the Dacian god of death. Unfortunately, his ministrations were also frequently required among the _evadti_. After a time of working closely together, he proposed marriage and I accepted. We lived happily together for many years, traveling to the major settlements in Dacia and ministering to those who needed our aid.

For nearly 60 years, I had managed to avoid extended contact with the Roman empire, but in 80 AD, they turned their sights on Dacia, and Milos and I struggled to maintain our distance from the conflict that was growing along the borders of the Danube. News had reached us of…horrific acts on the frontier. There were not many other druids in Dacia at the time, but I had lost contact with the few others that I knew. Through the Carpathian elemental, I learned that many of them had been killed by Roman scouting parties."

Our host paused for a few moments, seeming to collect her thoughts. "I am sure that you know well of the…methods used by the Romans on the continent in those times. The deaths that I heard of…well, it does not do to dwell on the details." Her face was very pale, and she took a draw on her cigarette, looking as though she was trying to steady herself for a difficult task.

"We had many conversations, Milos and I, about what course was best to take as the Roman raiding parties moved ever further into Dacia. We were neither of us very young anymore, and were understandably modest about our abilities to resist should I become a target. We moved further northeast, up into the mountains. I wore a glove and a long robe to cover my tattoos, and we did not speak of my powers where we could be heard by others."

Aylish gave a harsh laugh, and Granuaile jumped. "What pathetic efforts they seem now," she continued. "Had I known then that the bastards had the aid of a goddess in their genocide, I would have chosen the sword and trusted my luck, arthritis be damned. But instead we hid. And in 85 AD, the village where we were living was attacked by a Roman raiding party."

There was a long silence. Granuaile and I were entranced by this small woman's story. After several moments, she took a slow, shaky breath and continued her tale.

"We ran. Of course we did. We had no other choice. We both knew that they were not there to trouble the villagers, but that they were there for me. We hid in the blacksmith's shop, and…that was where…" She paused and cleared her throat, deciding to tackle the salient point from a more oblique angle. "We had spoken of this, of course, but it was all theoretical. I knew that my tattoos bound me to the earth and allowed me to draw power from her. I had made the hypothetical step that if damage to my healing knot caused me to be unable to invoke that power, then damage to the knot on my heel that bound me to the earth might cut my connection to the earth. If that connection were broken, I reasoned that the Romans, who were obviously tracking my magic draw, would be unable to locate me.

It worked. It took many burns, as we were unsure of which part of the tattoos on my lower leg would break my bond to the earth, but when it snapped, I must have lost consciousness, because I do not remember anything more."

She paused, taking a draw from a cigarette with a shaking hand. "I have had many years to reconstruct what must have happened after the bond broke. I suppose that I will never know the truth of it, but I do know that, when I awoke, I had been slipped back under the cover of a the heavy blacksmith's table and covered with sacking. Night had fallen. The fires lit by the Roman raiders still burned. The air was thick with smoke, and the moans of the grieving and dying. When I staggered to my feet and left the blacksmith's forge, I found…blood. So very much blood. I recall being vaguely astonished that the human body could possibly hold so much fluid. In the midst of the carnage, I found Milos. He was dead."

"You know, I don't even remember crying. I only knelt at his side and stared, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to comprehend the loss. In some strange way, I suppose I had always assumed that, as a death priest, he would be…immune. And so I was unable to understand. I knelt in the bloody dirt, holding his hand, somehow stupidly believing that he would just open his eyes. He didn't, of course. He just lay there, cold. I do not know how long I stayed there beside him, but the sky was starting to lighten when I felt a damp hand on my shoulder.

"You are the druid?" a cold voice whispered in my mind.

I might have said yes, I don't remember. "Your lover has come to me at last, druid," the voice said, "and so I am here to fulfill my debt to him." The man that stood at my side, swathed in green, appeared to be in the peak of health, with a thick black beard and dark eyes. He held out his right hand. "Give me your arm, druid."

I told him that I did not understand who he was and what he wanted of me, but he was silent. If I was looking for explanations, I saw I would be disappointed. I held out my left arm to him, and he grasped it here, around the biceps. It began to burn, and I cried out in pain. My legs gave out, but the strength of the strange man held me upright. The burning cold began to seep through the rest of my body, deep into my bones. I tell you truly that I thought I would die from the pain. At last, it ended, and I felt a sudden surge of strength and vigour I had not felt since my youth. When I looked down at my hands, I found that they were no longer the veined, arthritic paws I had become accustomed to, but tight-fleshed, strong hands.

"What have you done to me?" I asked the man. He smiled, and I shivered. "I have paid my debt. A high priest of Veles is entitled to certain privileges, and may ask certain things of his god. You should feel grateful that your lover chose to use his influence in my hall for your benefit. I agreed that if I were to take his life, that you would have my blessing to seek a renewal of your own magic. That blessing has been given." He gestured to my left arm, which still pulsed and throbbed with pain.

"And what is the price of this generous gift, Lord of the Roots?" I asked him. Again he smiled. "You will send me many souls in your time, druid," was all that he said. I looked down at the tattoo that had blossomed on my left biceps and, when I looked back up, he was gone."

Aylish was silent for a moment, her right hand coming up unconsciously to grip the strange tattoo on her left arm. 

"I am not proud of the things I have done," she said after a moment. "That night, I gathered my weapons and my gear, and I hunted the Roman raiding party through the Carpathians. I caught up with them after a day of travel. When night fell, I attacked the camp and slew them all. And I liked it. "

She let out a long, slow breath, leaning her head back against the sandstone wall of the alcove. "This…strange body that I have been given seems to run on anger, pain, and fear. I am never so quick, so strong, as when I am fighting. It became like an addiction. I took my knives and travelled south to the Danube. I killed many Romans there, but it did not take me long to realize that the cause was lost and revenge, while I was very good at it, did not bring me much satisfaction. I left the front and returned to the mountains. It took me many years to get used to my new body and my new circumstances. The place in my soul where I had always felt my binding was a hollow ache. I had never felt so…lost and alone. Cut off from my other forms, cut off from the earth. And yet, I had been gifted, if one could call it that, with the body of a youth of twenty. I sat for a long time with the realization that Milos' parting gift to me in this life was this new body and a second chance to be rebound to the earth. And, do you know?" she let out a low laugh, "I would have traded this body in an instant to have him back. And I still would.

In spite of my…turbulent feelings about my new situation, it became clear to me that I needed to find a way to be rebound to the earth. I had never traveled to the north of the continent, and so I decided to test this new body of mine against the cold, and journeyed to Iceland in the hopes of finding other druids who had escaped the Romans.

I stayed in the north for several hundred years, testing myself against the elements and gaining a name for myself as a mercenary for hire. I did not hear tale nor tithe of another druid, though I sailed with the Vikings to many shores, including Ireland. In the year 1000 AD, Leif the Lucky came to recruit me for his voyage to the New World. I had started to tire of the cold, and so I agreed." She gave a wry smile, "The sea did not suit me very well, but I found that this new world appealed to something in my heart. And so I stayed. I dwelt for a time among the Beothuk people but when they began to come into conflict with the Vikings, I left them and journeyed south to the land of the Anishnabe, that folk today call the Algonquin. I lived as a member of the Anishnabe tribe for nearly six hundred years, until Samuel de Champlain and his pack of Frenchmen raised the population of idiots to the point that they were unbearable company. War came to me again and, when I had had my fill of it blood and death, I travelled west, and came to Rupert's Land, in the north of what is now Alberta. And I have stayed there ever since. I lived in the wild, for the most part. I have come to dislike the company of others in recent centuries. However, the advent of more vigilant governments in the area forced me to move to Edmonton to blend in. I have been living there for almost seven years now, though it is beginning to grate on me.

I find that my particular set of talents is well suited to the bouncing business, and I have been working in a bar for the last several years. I had long since given up hope of ever finding another druid. I heard of the disasters on the continent, and had accepted that the advances of Romans and Christians had driven them from the world entirely. Until I heard of you."

Aylish had been staring at the sandy floor of the alcove for the last several minutes, but she looked up and met my eyes. "And that is what brings me to Arizona, Mr. O'Sullivan. I have wandered the earth for nearly two thousand years, searching for a way to be rebound to the earth; and I am hoping that you have the power to help me."

 _Wow. That was an awesome story, Atticus. I bet she tells amazing bath time stories.  
Yeah, probably,_ I agreed, _that was pretty tough for her though._

She was barely keeping it together, I could see. I could hardly imagine what it must have taken for her to tell her tale, and for such a proud fighter to be able to ask for my help.

"Thank you for telling us your story," I said courteously, "It helps me to understand better what you ask of me, but I am not able to help you here in Arizona."

She frowned and tightened her lips, but said nothing.

"As far as I know, the binding ritual requires the cooperation of both the elemental and the plate in order to commune with Gaia directly, and the only plate that has consented to the ritual is the Eurasian plate."

She nodded, "So a druid must be bound in the Old World."

"Yes. The only unfortunate thing is that Granuaile and I," we exchanged glances, "well we are not exactly safe to travel on the continent."

Aylish's face snapped closed like a book. "I understand," she said coolly. "I would not ask you to risk yourselves for my sake."

"That doesn't mean I can't help you," I added hastily, "It just means that I probably can't perform the binding ritual myself. I'll have to call in a favour from a…rather crotchety guy."

_Oh great big bears, Atticus, we're not going to see Owen, are we?_

_I think we'll have to buddy._

_Ohhhhhhh._


	8. Chapter 8

I could hardly believe what was happening. I still felt shaky and almost a bit sick as I watched O'Sullivan walk to the edge of the ledge to make a phone call to Hal Hauk. I ran a hand absently through Vili's fur as she twined herself around my legs. I was so close. I looked up as the red headed druid, Granuaile, sat down beside me.

"I'm really sorry for what you had to go through," she said, and I could hear real compassion in her low voice. "I'm sure that we'll be able to help you."

"I certainly hope so," I agreed.

"What do you think you'll do once you're rebound?" she asked. I shrugged.

"In all honesty, I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well, if you'd like to stay around with us, I'm sure we'd be glad to have your help," Granuaile smiled brightly, "plus it would be really great to have another female druid around." I allowed myself a small smile.

"How long have you been bound to the earth?" I asked, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from myself.

"About a year," her face flushed with what might have been embarrassment, "I'm pretty new to this whole thing."

"I'm sure you're doing just fine," I said. To my surprise, her face fell a bit.

"Well, I'm not feeling so far ahead these days," she said softly.

"It sounds like you have a story to tell yourself." I lit myself another cigarette. "If we have time, I would be honoured to hear it."

She looked at the cigarette incredulously, but nodded, "I'm sure you will hear some of it, if not the whole thing. You sound like a good person to have in your corner. I wouldn't be surprise if Atticus asks for your help."

I shrugged, "It would be an egregious error for me not to offer whatever help I can if he is able to do this service for me, or at least to see it done."

We sat quietly for a moment, then Granuaile suddenly laughed. I looked at her warily, but she waved away my concern, "It was just the hounds" she said, "Atticus is busy worrying, so Oberon wants to make sure that I tell you what a good story-teller you are."

The male wolfhound perked up his ears and cocked his head in my direction. I dipped my head in his direction, "Quite a compliment," I allowed, though I was somewhat confused. When in doubt, be courteous.

As if in response to the conversation, Vili curled herself up in my lap and stared at the two wolfhounds, making it plain just whose human I was. I laughed softly and scratched her behind the ears as she began to purr noisily. "You've nothing to worry about, pretty one," I told her, "I'm not replacing you any time soon."

O'Sullivan finished his conversation and walked back toward us. "Hal said Greta can be at the trail head to pick us up in a couple of hours. So I guess we get to hang out and wait."

I lifted Vili gently off of my lap, "Would you care to sample the venison while we wait?" I asked, "It would be a shame to waste it."

The others agreed and I fished a few of the smaller pieces out of the fire pit. They were still rare, but cooked, and delicious.

As we ate, I was submitted to a thorough questioning by Granuaile, who seemed fascinated by everything I had to tell her.

"What are your animal forms?"

"My bird form is a golden eagle, my predator form is a grey wolf, and my hoofed form is a bull elk."

She frowned. "Is that even possible? I mean, you're not a guy, so I kind of assumed…"

I shrugged, "Gaia cares nothing for the performances of gender that we have enforced upon ourselves. When the spirit is rebound to a new form, anything is possible."

"And what's your aquatic form?"

"A mink. A useful form for getting in and out of tight places, but I have not used it very often."

O'Sullivan frowned, "Aren't mink freshwater mammals?"

"Yes they are, to the best of my knowledge. I have never attempted to use the form in salt water, so I don't know what the results would be, but I imagine the mink form would not be well equipped to handle the force of the currents in a body of water any larger than a lake."

"How many languages do you speak?" Granuaile inquired, "I mean, in the sense of head spaces?"

I frowned slightly, "As far as I know, those are two different questions. I speak about fifteen languages all told, many of them now extinct, but my head spaces are far more limited."

Granuaile flushed slightly. "Right, sorry, I was meaning head spaces. What have you memorized?" 

"My first headspace was Old Irish, which I imagine it was for yourself as well, " I looked at O'Sullivan, and he nodded. "After that, I gained a French headspace with the works of Molière, a Romanian headspace with the poetic work of Vasile Alecsandri, and a Latin headspace with Tacitus' Histories and Ovid's Metamorphoses. I gained an Anicinabemowin headspace when I lived among the Anishnabe and learned their tales and songs, and my two English headspaces are the poetry of William Blake and the songs of Stan Rogers."

"Wow. Cool choices. But how do you have two English headspaces? I mean, aren't they the same language?"

"Would you ever confuse the voice of Oscar Wilde with the voice of Charles Dickens? Or the work of Shakespeare with the work of Chaucer?"

"Well, no, I see your point. They are almost completely different languages, aren't they?" Granuaile appeared to be thinking very deeply about this question.

"How many headspaces do you have at the moment?" I asked courteously as I finished off my venison. "Only one," she responded, "I've memorized the work of Walt Whitman."

I nodded slowly, considering. "A good choice, I think, and one that will serve you well. I would caution you against using my choices of headspace to guide you, though. A headspace is a deeply personal thing, and it's not something that someone else can ever choose for you."

Granuaile sighed. "I know, but it's really helpful to have some more models to follow. It helps me get more data for my decision making." She looked up, a slight flush to her cheeks, "Thank you for answering all of my questions."

"You are most welcome." A small smile crept onto my face, "Questions are the mark of a good druid. I wouldn't be much of one myself if I was unwilling to answer them."

"We had probably better get hiking if we're going to meet Greta on time," O'Sullivan said, rising from his place.

"Who is this Greta?" I asked. I crossed to the back of the alcove and packed away the few belongings that I had taken out of my pack.

"She's a member of the Tempe pack," he answered, "She's the one Hal sends when he needs any special business taken care of."

"Ah, the Gamma," I nodded, thinking of Zack, the Gamma of the Edmonton pack.

"You have experience with werewolves, I take it?" O'Sullivan asked as we began our walk down to the bank of the river.

"I have had an excellent business relationship with the Edmonton pack since I they first came to the area, yes," I answered. "They handle my legal business and I occasionally spar with Mark to keep my skills up."

"Who's Mark?" Granuaile asked.

"Mark Lightwing is my lawyer."

"Oh, I see."

The trail became a smidge more difficult, and we did not speak much as we drew closer to the trail head, though I could tell that Granuaile was still bursting with questions for me. I supposed it must be interesting for her to meet another druid, and I appreciated her desire to learn, but I must admit I was glad of the respite. I still felt unbalanced by the whole situation, and I needed time to get to grips with the situation. Get to grips? Who was I kidding. There was not getting to grips with this. I would just have to try to contain my emotions until I could find some kind of resolution, that was the best I could hope for.

As we approached the trail head, I saw a sleek black vehicle waiting for us. A tall woman with her hair pulled back in a tight braid was leaning against the car, her arms folded across her chest, looking like the this was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

"You're late," she sneered as we approached, and I could feel her dial up the aggression as she looked at O'Sullivan. Okaaay, looked like there was a bit of tension there.

"My apologies," O'Sullivan responded. I noticed he was being careful to keep his voice careful and gentle, almost submissive. Granuaile said nothing, but kept her eyes low.

I looked the woman up and down. She seemed like the confident sort, and I certainly didn't want to upset her, but I didn't see the need to be lumped in with whatever bad blood there was between her and O'Sullivan. I held out a hand, "You must be Greta," I said with a smile.

Warily, she took my hand, and we shook. She had a firm grip, and held my hand tight enough to be assertive, but not enough for it to be a challenge. "And you are?"

"Aylish McMann. Pleased to meet you."

I saw eyes glance at my arms, and I waited, relaxed, giving her a chance to check me out. "Another druid?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. "One who once was, and hopes to be again," I said humbly. "Thank you very much for picking us up, I'm sure it's out of your way."

She shot a dark glare at O'Sullivan. "Oh, it is. Hop in, I'll take you over to Hal's place. He thought it was the best place for everyone to meet up."

I took shotgun, and the other two looked relieved enough to let me. I chatted a bit with Greta as we drove. It turned out she was a guitar enthusiast, and was very interested to hear about my instrument. The topic of guitar music and different cultural techniques for playing occupied us until we drove up the driveways of one of the largest houses I have ever seen.

We got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the front door, past a sleek BMW of some kind that I presumed belonged to Mr. Hauk.

The very same gentleman was at the door to greet us, and welcomed us inside. He nodded to me as I entered. "Ms. McMann, a pleasure to see you again." I nodded back. "It appears that some thanks are in order, Mr. Hauk. I appreciate your work on my behalf."

"It was more work on my client's behalf, but you're quite welcome," he said with a shrug. "Come on into the kitchen."

As we followed Hauk, I felt O'Sullivan's hand on my arm. "Just so you know, the guy you're about to meet is my old Archdruid. He's only recently been rescued from one of the time islands, and he's been adjusting to life in the 21st Century. He can be a bit…abrasive."

I nodded, accepting the warning in his tone. I could handle abrasive. When I stepped into the kitchen after Hal, I saw a tall, broadly built man standing by the island. He looked to be in his early to mid-forties, with a thick black beard and a commanding face. To my surprise, Greta walked over to him and put an arm around his waist. He in turn put a well-muscled arm around her shoulders. I jotted this down on my mental note pad as a relationship to marvel at later.

O'Sullivan nodded to the man as he entered. "Hal tells me ye have a favour to ask of me?" the older man said by way of greeting. I saw O'Sullivan roll his eyes. It was good to know that I wasn't the only druid to have behaved like a sassy teenager with my Archdruid.

"Owen, this is Aylish McMann," he said, gesturing towards me. The broad man looked over to me and studied me carefully. "She needs to be rebound to the earth," O'Sullivan added.

"I can see that, lad," Owen said, "what I want to know is how she got unbound in the first place."

"That's quite a long story," I supplied, feeling a bit uncomfortable at being the subject of discussion. Owen gave me a long scrutiny.

"And I suppose ye'd be thinkin that I'd be the one to rebind her, since you're busy running around stirring up shite, am I right?"

"Something like that," O'Sullivan said ruefully, running a hand through his red hair.

"I figured."

"I'm actually not even sure it can be done," O'Sullivan said and I felt my heart drop like a stone. "But I figure if anyone can figure it out, you can," he continued.

"Ah, there's no need to be lickin' me arse, lad," Owen growled. He gave me a long look, "I wouldn't refuse a thing like that." I nodded my thanks to him, not trusting myself to speak.

O'Sullivan sighed in what I thought might have been relief, and offered me his hand. "I'll leave you here in Owen's capable hands," he said. "I have some other business to attend to, but Hal can contact me when you're finished. I'd like to speak with you again."

I shook his hand and nodded. "Of course. I'm in your debt."

Granuaile hesitated for a moment and then, to my surprise, gave me a hug. It was exceedingly awkward, considering we had only met a few hours earlier, but I put my arms gingerly around her. "Good luck," she whispered, "I hope we see each other again."

"Yes," I responded as she finally released me, "as do I."

There was a long silence after the front door closed. Finally Greta looked at me and asked, "so are you the arrogant asshole kind of druid, or the decent sort?"

I blinked. "Uh…I don't know about arrogant, but I can definitely be an asshole."

Greta smiled, "Seems fair."

*

My first plane shift in nearly two thousand years took us to a beautiful forest in the north of Ireland. I felt a bit sick, but I think I managed well. Owen had hardly said anything to me since we had gotten our gear together in Tempe and driven out to a forest with Greta. I didn't mind. I was so nervous I could hardly think, let alone participate in a decent conversation.

We hiked through the woods until we found a likely cave to spread our things. The entrance was set back into a large crag, and covered with native thorn bushes, which would be ideal for the ritual. As we settled ourselves in for a long few weeks, Owen finally spoke to me.

"The elemental thinks that the ritual will be possible," he said gruffly.

"Good."

When all had been prepared, I rolled up the leg on my loose pants until it was tight against my thigh, exposing the many burn scars along the length of my calf and lower thigh. Owen's eyes tightened around the corners when he saw the burns, but he said nothing.

He worked on my heel first, slowly and painstakingly repairing the circular knot that would bind me to the earth. When he had finished that knot, he looked up to meet my eyes. "It's time," he said simply. I nodded, and he let my heel down to touch the earth.

The whole of creation exploded behind my eyes and, in an instant, I knew again the infinite love and connection of the earth. And then I lost consciousness.

*

Reforming the tattoos was a long process. When Owen had moved up to the bar at the top of my calf, I re-emerged from unconsciousness with tears flowing freely from my eyes. My heart was once again full of the love of Gaia, and I could not contain the depth of emotion that I felt at being connected to it again. It would not wash away all of the pain of the previous two millennia, but I could feel that the healing had finally begun. Owen let me sit in silence for a few days before he began to talk with me. Now that the uncertain part of the ritual was over, I told him much of my story, and he was able to bring me up to speed on the current state of druidry; that is, on all of the adventures Atticus and Granuaile had been up to in the last thirteen years.

I learned that O'Sullivan had killed Bres and Aenghus Og, which I considered no great loss. The Morrigan had died to protect Atticus and Granuaile as they ran across the continent to England, and Brigid was still first among the Fae, but at a terrible cost. I understood then why it was that Atticus and Granuaile were not safe in Europe, if they had dark elves, vampires, and a Norse trickster god on their trail. My blood burned at the news that vampires were still intent on wiping druids from the face of the earth, and I thought with satisfaction of the one I had left in the dumpster on Whyte Ave. But I was troubled to hear of Loki and Hel's plans to bring about Ragnarok. The Norse version of the apocalypse wasn't one that had ever appealed to me much, and it appealed to me even less, now that it looked to be on its way imminently.

"So what will you do now?" I asked after Owen had told me of the battle that had recently taken place in Tir na n'Og and his role in the cleanup.

Owen sighed, "To be honest, I don't really know. I can say that the world seems to be going to shite in a hurry and I should probably try to do something to stop it, but blow me if I know what that would be."

"Yeah," I answered, wincing as the thorn stabbed my leg for the last time, "I'm not sure I'd be able to help you much."

"Seems like you're mighty proficient in the area of killing folk," Owen said with a grin, "Might be that could come in handy."

I shrugged. "Well, now that I've been rebound, that power might very well disappear, I don't really know."

Owen shook his head, "It wouldn't matter, lass," he said, "you've some skill that doesn't depend on that power, and I would wager that you'd be a good person to have in a fight."

I smiled and lowered my pant leg as he withdrew the thorn from my skin. "I'm never one to turn down a good fight," I said, "but I'll be honest, my druidry can't help but be a little rusty. I stood and looked him in the eye, "but my first obligation is to repay my debt to you and to Atticus." I held out my hand, "I can't possibly thank you enough for your help." He grasped my hand in his own and shook it. "My knives are yours if you need them."

"That may well be a requirement in the near future," he said with a grin, "but right now I'd settle for a decent meal."

I laughed, "Well, I'd have to borrow a kitchen, but I think I can oblige you on that score." We packed up our gear and walked back to the tree where we had shifted in. An unbearable lightness had filled my heart. The earth was nourishing my body with every step I took, and I could feel the small caresses of the grass on my bare feet. I nearly cried.

I wasn't sure what would await me in the future, but now that I was rebound to the earth, I knew that I could face whatever was coming.

When we reached the trees, I reached out and laid my hand against the bark, feeling the teeming life beneath my hand. Then, with the widest grin I'd ever had on my face, I reached out and pulled myself along the tether to Tir na N'Og.


End file.
